


Parting Gifts

by Severina



Category: Young Riders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-06
Updated: 2003-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-23 11:25:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buck meets with his brother before leaving the Kiowa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parting Gifts

Running Buck dismounted smoothly, setting his horse to graze on the small patch of scrub grass growing at the edge of the clearing. He had no fear that the animal would wander away. The grey mare had been his horse since he was old enough to acquire his own animal. Running Buck found a rueful smile playing at his mouth. In actuality, he’d wanted his own horse for a full year before the grey was given to him. He didn’t attain the horse when he felt HE was old enough to care for her. He got the horse when RED BEAR felt the time was right.

Red Bear. As usual, thoughts of his brother set his emotions wrestling with each other - gratitude and love for Red Bear dueling with anger over his perspective of his brother’s loyalty. He knew that such thoughts were not befitting a exceptional Kiowa warrior, but he seemed unable to stop them. The grin withered and died on his lips before it had a chance to be born.

Pushing his long hair back with a sigh, Running Buck strode purposefully through a patch of dense shrubbery. He had come across the area - a small barren clearing guarded on three sides by trees as tall and proud as the finest Kiowa warriors - when he was out riding with his brother three summers before. His people would say that there was nothing special about it. It didn’t resonate with the steady hum he had come to associate with places of power. It held no aura of spiritual or mystical charm. But it was special to him, nonetheless. It was his place. Protected by the trees and with a slow moving river at his back, he knew he was safe.

By the time he had a fire of sticks, dry leaves and late summer moss burning steadily, the round face of a new moon had made his appearance in the clear sky. Yet it was still many minutes of waiting before the soft brush of deerskin on dry bark told Running Buck that his brother was moving through the trees to join him. Though Red Bear moved furtively, Running Buck had spent too many years learning from his brother to mistake the sound for a prairie dog or a roadrunner. So when Red Bear appeared like a wraith out of the darkness to sit beside him at the fire, Running Buck merely smiled a greeting. The smile grew just the tiniest bit wider when a flash of a scowl crossed Red Bear’s face. It was quickly masked, but not quickly enough. Running Buck knew that his brother was perturbed at being overheard.

Folding his body lithely underneath him, Red Bear nodded his own greeting. “I apologize for my lateness, my brother. The affairs of the tribe do not always run smoothly, and I could not get away without mediating a dispute between Barking Dog and his woman.”

The grin on Running Buck’s face faded abruptly at the hidden meaning behind Red Bear’s words. Yes, the interests of the tribe did take precedence over many things, not least of which was a clandestine conference with a half-blood brother. He should consider himself lucky that Red Bear chose to meet with him at all. Who knew what he was pulling his brother away from? A tribal meeting? A council of war? Even a night of pleasure with his new bride Fire Dancer? He asked too much of Red Bear. But as he was taught by the great Shaman, all things must end. So, too, would his reliance on his brother.

“I have ridden many miles to see you, and yet you are silent,” Red Bear was saying. “Of what do you wish to speak, my brother?”

Running Buck took a deep breath. The ride to the clearing was a long one; of that, Red Bear did not exaggerate. Running Buck had taken his time, using the ride to gather his thoughts and to commune with the spirits of air and earth. It had been good for him. It had given him time to clear his head and to consider exactly how to word what he wanted to say. He had no wish to give offense to either his brother or his people. Taking another deep breath, Running Buck prepared to launch into his prearranged speech.

“I’m leaving the Kiowa.”

Running Buck’s mouth hung open. There was more, so much more!! His throat convulsed with the effort to speak. He had it all planned out - the reasons why he had to leave, the need to discover something about the world beyond the confines of one medium sized Kiowa village, the desire to know if his mixed blood would grant him acceptance or intolerance in the white man’s world. But the words were stillborn.

The pronouncement was barely out of his mouth before Red Bear began shaking his head. “Do not be foolish, Running Buck. You are not leaving. Let us talk of the coming hunt. There is much-”

Mouth closing with a snap, Running Buck sat in stunned silence for a moment as his brother coldly dismissed his intentions. Steadily, a sizzling fire began to burn within him. The hunt! How could he discuss the hunt? How could Red Bear reject his announcement so callously? Finding his voice at last, Running Buck interrupted harshly, “I’m leaving the Kiowa, Red Bear. There’s nothing for me here. Not anymore.”

Red Bear’s eyes narrowed suspiciously as he gazed fully at his brother. Tentatively he reached out a hand to pat Running Buck’s knee. “This is because of Little Bird,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Do not worry, my brother. I will find you another woman.”

“This is not about Little Bird!”

Swatting Red Bear’s hand away angrily, Running Buck stared into the campfire, willing the capering flames to calm the fire that coursed through his veins. Red Bear was partly right, he knew. When Little Bird was with him, things weren’t quite so difficult. She had a way of looking at things that made his worries seem irrational. When they were together, he had allowed himself to dream. He could envision a place for himself with the tribe, and could foresee a path of satisfaction and happiness for himself and Little Bird. When he told her of his plans for the future, she never thought them absurd. He loved her for that.

But Running Buck wasn’t a fool. Little Bird had been paired with him long before either of them was of marriageable age. And he knew that the only reason the tribal elders had agreed to the match was because he was a half-breed. He was tainted, and therefore unworthy of any pureblood Kiowa. So it didn’t really matter how much he came to care for Little Bird. A part of him always resented that he had no other choice. In time, part of him would have come to resent her as well. Running Buck’s lips twisted as another thought struck him. In the end, Little Bird had been prescient. She had warned of danger if he went with the hunting party, and danger had struck. If she hadn’t been taken in the raid, she would have been elevated to a new stature within the tribe. She would have been honoured for her prophetic abilities. And she would have been out of his reach. Running Buck could appreciate the irony.

“Then why are you behaving this way, Running Buck?”

Stealing a glance at his brother, Running Buck stifled a brief flash of resentment. Red Bear still sat with his legs crossed and his arms balanced loosely at his knees. His posture indicated nothing less than calm repose coupled with concentrated readiness. Running Buck’s own body fairly trembled with suppressed emotion. It was only one of many things that were so different about them.

Forcing his voice to remain steady, Running Buck replied, “You already know, Red Bear. You know why I have to leave.”

“Ah. Yes. Your ‘torment’. The litany of sins that is supposedly committed against you daily because of your white blood.”

“Yes,” Running Buck gritted, fighting to keep from addressing the sarcastic scorn in his brother’s voice. This was already going badly. There was no need to force a confrontation with Red Bear. His brother didn’t - or wouldn’t - see the abuse that Running Buck suffered as a half-breed. His eyes were blind when it came to that. Red Bear had acknowledge Running Buck as brother, and refused to accept anything less from the other members of their tribe. Running Buck had long ago given up trying to make Red Bear see the truth.

“That is madness, my brother. The imaginings of a child’s mind. You are Kiowa. You are no longer a child. Tomorrow we will go on the hunt, and we will be successful.”

“You’re right, Red Bear. I’m no longer a child. And I’m making my own decisions now. I’m leaving. I’m leaving the Kiowa. Tonight.”

“Bah! You turn your back on your people because of the ravings of a boy’s overactive imagination!”

“I turn my back on my people because they have already turned their backs on me!” Running Buck spat out. Flinging his head back, he struggled to regain his equilibrium while gazing at the night sky. But Father Moon offered no words of wisdom, and though the star children winked and danced, they too remained silent. Finally he turned his attention back to Red Bear, who still sat stiffly at his side.

“I was hoping you’d give me your blessing,” Running Buck said softly, the hope creeping into his voice despite his best intentions.

Red Bear shook his head. “That, I cannot give.” The Kiowa gestured quickly as Running Buck began to rise. “You wish to run away so quickly, my brother? I cannot give my blessing, but I can give some words to guide you. Sit, and listen to your brother for the last time.”

As Running Buck re-took his seat upon the hard earth, Red Bear stared into the fire. For a long moment only sounds of nature broke the silence of the impromptu camp. A bird hopped from one branch to another in the nearby copse of trees, it’s tiny nails clicking on the bark as it landed. A branch in the fire crackled and broke as it was slowly devoured by flame. A fish leapt from the river at their backs, seeking its own illusive prey in the dusky stillness of night. Finally Red Bear spoke, his voice instinctively taking on the cadence of the great story-tellers of the village.

“My father Proud Eagle was a wise man. There came a time when I was a boy, when he decided that we must go on a spirit walk. Proud Eagle had been war-chief then for many years. Numerous were the feathers that adorned his hair and clothing, each one signifying a great event that had occurred in his long life. Our people had grown prosperous under his leadership. Buffalo were plentiful and bellies were full. And though Proud Eagle had chosen to take on the mantle of war-chief, he still took counsel with the great Shaman of the tribe, for Proud Eagle’s power of prophecy was impressive. It had been thought that he would take the place of tribal Shaman when he came of age, but his skills at the hunt belied that assumption. When a child kills his first buffalo before most have even joined a hunt, his destiny is assured! Proud Eagle instead led our people to a time of victory little known then or since.”

Running Buck shifted uncomfortably as Red Bear recited a catalog of facts already known to most Kiowa before they were able to speak. Yes, he was pleased that Proud Eagle was a notable leader and remarkable hunter. But it was hard enough to be the village half-breed. It was doubly hard when the mother of the half-breed had been married to a legend. While the other boys found the stories and myths of Proud Eagle to be inspiring, Running Buck only felt more daunted by the arduous road that lay ahead of him. If it hadn’t been for his birth, Red Flower may have borne Proud Eagle many more sons. Red Bear had been gifted with his father’s skill at the hunt and his mother’s diplomacy. Who knew what talents subsequent children might have inherited? But the chance to know had ended with the birth of the half-blood.

“In this time of prosperity, Proud Eagle took me on a spirit walk. With only the clothes on our backs, we left the village and traveled many miles, eating and drinking nothing and avoiding the Hunkpapa hunting parties who were then at war with the Kiowa. We came finally to a mountain at the edge of the Kiowa hunting grounds. The beast rose into the sky like a towering giant, one colossal arm pointed at the clouds and the other drawn back as though ready to fire an arrow at Mother Sun. We climbed The Giant, stopping not once, though my legs cried for rest and my mouth cried for chatter. I was but a boy, and unused to silent reflection.” Red Bear’s eyes flicked his brother. “Not unlike someone else I now know.”

Before Running Buck could protest, Red Bear continued, “At the very summit of The Giant, we found an opening in the rock that gave shelter from the heat of the day. While Proud Eagle made a fire and began to prepare for our spirit walk, I found myself drawn to the mouth of the cave. The mountain fell away from my feet so steeply that I could not imagine how we were able to traverse it at all, and the entire world seemed to be filled with the blue expanse of sky. And as I watched, an eagle dipped and soared across my field of vision, strong and proud. I knew this was a sign that our spirit walk would be successful.

“Proud Eagle called me inside, and as my eyes adjusted to the darkness of the cavern Proud Eagle spoke the ritual words that would begin our journey to the spirit plain. For many hours there was no sound but the steady trickle of water from a fissure deep within The Giant, and I grew restless. I was about your age, Running Buck, and I expected things to happen NOW. I felt no changes, and I felt that the eagle that owned the sky above The Giant had been a harbinger of misfortune instead of triumph. Perhaps my first experience with a spirit walk was doomed to failure. I fidgeted… until Proud Eagle began to speak.”

Running Buck found himself leaning forward, drawn in to the story. This was not just a rehash of a narrative already shared around the tribal fires by the story-tellers. This was more than another anecdote about a hero. Running Buck knew that this was likely the first and only time that Red Bear would relate this particular tale. His brother was giving him a parting gift unlike any other, and the respect he already felt for Red Bear tripled. It was hard to live up to the legend that Proud Eagle had become, but Red Bear had never made it hard to live up to a living legend. Admiration for his brother filled Running Buck’s heart.

“Proud Eagle spoke of many things that day,” Red Bear was saying softly, “and I listened intently to every word. My lessons were numerous as my father, guided by the great spirits of our ancestors, gave me the instruction I would need to become a leader worthy of our people. For at that time,” Red Bear added with a touch of pride, “it was already known that I would follow Proud Eagle’s path as war-chief.”

“You’ve served our people nobly, and honoured Proud Eagle’s memory.”

“Yes,” nodded Red Bear sagely before returning to his tale. “Proud Eagle spoke until our mother the Sun had long passed above, and her husband the shining Moon had taken his place in a sky as black as the heart of a white Buffalo hunter. My gaze had been drawn inward, seeking the guiding hands of war-chiefs-past, so that when I looked to Proud Eagle I was shocked to see that the mark of prophecy was upon him. His long white hair drifted about his head like a cloud, though not a breath of air stirred the cavern. His eyes were pale as a drift of sand on the plains. Then my true lesson began, for Proud Eagle spoke of things to come.”

Red Bear folded his hands on his lap. “Proud Eagle spoke of a great man, a Ko-eet-senko of the Kiowa who would come from the Black Hills and broker peace between our people and the tribes of Arapaho and Cheyenne. Today, do we not meet with our brothers the Arapaho in peace? Proud Eagle warned of a wasting sickness that would come to us from the usurpers of our land and lay waste to both the strong and weak, the mighty and the helpless. But he also knew that the great Kiowa nation could not be destroyed, and that with the help of our illustrious ancestors we would fight this white disease. Proud Eagle told of a great leader, tall and muscular, who would lead the fight against encroachers upon our territories from the Tejan. Of these and many other things did my father speak, and as the wheel of time has turned, so many of these things have come to pass. And lastly,” Red Bear regarded Running Buck solemnly, “Proud Eagle spoke of a child.”

“A child?”

“Born of violence,” Red Bear recited, “a child would come among us with the skin of a paleface and the heart of an eagle. The time of the child would pass quickly, for he would leave the Kiowa and be alone and desolate. But as the red calf grows to the mighty buffalo, so too would the supple reed of the child mature and blossom. And in the end, the child of violence would know peace.”

“In the end…” Running Buck breathed.

Red Bear smiled sadly. “So you see, Running Buck, I have known that this day would come since before you were a seed in our mothers stomach. But I am my father’s son. I am proud. And I would rail against the commands of fate.”

“Red Bear, I-”

“Do you know this knife?”

Pulling the weapon from its sheath at his side, Red Bear held the knife up to the fire. Flames sparked along its razor-sharp edge; the rawhide wrapped around its hilt was worn smooth from years of use.

Running Buck nodded. There were almost as many legends about the knife as there were about Red Bear’s father. It was a prodigious weapon, and one that he knew Red Bear was honoured to bear. “It belonged to Proud Eagle, and his father before him.”

“And his father before him,” added Red Bear. “It was with this knife that Proud Eagle killed his first deer. It is said that Night Eater, the father of Proud Eagle, drew the lifeblood of many Arapaho with this weapon, in the times before the Arapaho were our brothers of the plains. It was with this blade that I took the heart of the man who violated our mother.”

Red Bear turned the weapon in his hands lightly. “Proud Eagle and I spent two days upon The Giant. Then we descended to the lands of our people. My journey to the spirit plain was successful, but Proud Eagle knew that the occasion of my first spirit walk was to be his last. Before we returned to the village he bade me to take his knife, as he had taken it from his father, and his father had taken it from his father before him. He advised me, in the passing of time, to bequeath it to my own son, that it would always be the weapon of a powerful Kiowa warrior.”

“I’m sure that Fire Dancer will bear you many strong sons,” Running Buck said softly.

“Yes,” Red Bear smiled before rising gracefully from his place at the fire. “And now I must return to her, before she decides to leave me for Barking Dog.”

Running Buck returned the grin. “Thank you for your words, Red Bear. They… they help. I’ll seek the peace that Proud Eagle foresaw.” Rising to stand beside his brother, Running Buck slung his small deerskin pouch over his shoulder. It contained enough dried meat for a two-day expedition; after that, he’d have to catch whatever food he required. He wasn’t worried… Red Bear had taught him well.

Running Buck took in the clearing with a final glance. Red Bear was already dousing the fire, and he knew his brother would ensure that his spirited grey mare was given to another worthy member of the tribe. Still, even though he thought he had prepared himself for this moment, he had to force himself to take that first step away from the glade. Away from Red Bear. Away from the only life he’d ever known.

“Running Buck,” the voice of Red Bear called him back.

Running Buck turned hopeful eyes to his brother. He knew he should be thankful that Red Bear had given him the gift of a very private and personal memory of his father, and the prophecy of his own future. It should be enough. But he couldn’t help but wish that Red Bear was going to give his blessing after all.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Red Bear asked mischievously.

“Forgetting?”

Red Bear silently held out the knife, now sheathed in its worn deerskin covering.

Running Buck’s eyes grew wide. “No… No, Red Bear! The knife belongs to the son that Fire Dancer will someday bear. Your first-born son. I can’t-”

“Running Buck.” Red Bear crossed the ground between them in several long strides. “Do you still not understand? Our mother may have carried you and a nameless stranger may have planted the seed that created you, but I have raised you as my own. I have taught you all that I know, that you may grow to be a noble warrior of our people. I have loved you and nurtured you as best as I was able. You are my son, Running Buck, in all ways but that of blood. Take this weapon, and let it protect you on your quest in the white world.”

Blinking to hold back the tears, Running Buck took the knife carefully from Red Bear’s outstretched hand. The weapon felt comfortably heavy in his palm, as though it belonged there. “Red Bear-” What could he say? What words could possibly convey the love he felt in his heart? “Thank you,” he murmured through a throat constricted tight with emotion.

Red Bear clasped a hand briefly on his brother’s shoulder. “Seek peace,” he said softly before slipping away into the night.

Running Buck stood a long moment before re-taking his seat next to the now-dead fire, the knife still grasped lightly in his hand. He would modify the sheath, he contemplated silently, so that it would sit easily alongside his left boot. He would practice so that he could draw the weapon smoothly in any situation. He would use Red Bear’s gift with honour and respect.

Carefully, Running Buck manipulated the cutting edge of the weapon to delicately shear off one of the strips of rawhide that dangled from the sheath. He offered this symbol of the blade reverently to the six powers of the world before placing the strip into his medicine pouch. Then, with a heart considerably lightened, Running Buck made his way out of the clearing and into the white world.

The End

 


End file.
